


echo, i know (it's a sin to kiss and swallow)

by meritmut



Series: ahch-to shenanigans [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ahch-To, Ambiguous Relationships, Ben has an oral fixation but we been knew, Dream Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Sexual Fantasy, Voyeurism, desire is messy and Luke is confused, of a sort, the Force works in mysterious ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-23 16:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/pseuds/meritmut
Summary: The night, the storm-tossed sea, the girl.And the Force.





	echo, i know (it's a sin to kiss and swallow)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurage_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurage_hime/gifts).



**

By nightfall the storm that had hunkered, brooding, over the ocean for most of the day had swept in over the island, and every living thing dove for shelter from the wind and driving rain. Luke pushed on through the downpour, following the insistent summons of the Force toward the cliff’s edge.

Reaching out across the stars had opened the floodgates. The Force flowed through him, coursing through his body till it seemed his veins were awash in silver fire. A symphony of starlight sang beneath his skin; its wild, luminous energy infused every part of him.

It hurt, almost, to feel so _much_ again. It felt too raw, too sharp and bright and new, like the prickling rush of sensation into blood-starved tissue; like a phantom limb once more made whole. It felt like waking up after a thousand years of winter and realising he had forgotten how it felt to be alive.

How could he have severed himself from this?

The village loomed up out of the dusk, the huts little more than vague shapes in the deepening dark. Flames danced in the window of the clochán where the girl slept; she’d meant it, apparently, when she declared she wasn’t leaving the island without him. Luke skidded down the rain-slick steps to the doorway, reached up to sweep aside the tarp and—

Slammed to a standstill on the threshold, a shout dying on his lips, as the haze of warmth washed over him and with it a sight that threatened to stop his heart.

The girl was touching herself.

Luke blinked, hoping fervently that his eyes were deceiving him, to no avail. There was no mistaking the scene inside the hut: no chance that he was seeing things, of pretending that his unwanted neighbour _wasn't_ currently reclining nude on the low stone bed with one hand shoved between her thighs.

The realisation of it—of what, exactly, he was looking at—should have made him recoil there and then, turn and flee back up the slope like he was the intruder here and not her (and he was, Luke knew; Rey of Jakku might have trespassed on his self-imposed exile but this was a thing he had no right at all to witness), but something held him there still, frozen in place as though his feet had grown roots.

Closing his eyes solved nothing: she was so utterly, devastatingly _open_ that the air itself seemed to flare and shimmer with her pleasure. His head swam with visions of her slender body limned in flames, their flickering radiance giving softness to the form carved lean and sinewy by hunger; his skin burned with the ghostly echo of her touch.

The night, the storm-tossed sea, the girl; the Force knew no distinction.

A sound reached his ears—a sigh, soft and plaintive as the croon of the wind through the island's many crags and hollows, though surely those eerie melodies had never sounded so outright _carnal_. Luke's cheeks flamed: he had heard that sound before, more than once, and then as now had wished with every fibre of his being that the Force would strike him deaf so he'd never have to hear it again.

But now, as then, the Force did no such thing, and Luke was left to helplessly watch and _listen_ as she pleasured herself.

A shadow passing swiftly across the flames drew his gaze again: the girl was not alone after all, but before Luke could even begin to wonder _who_ when—to his knowledge—there were no other humans on the island, the shadow had moved further into view and become a man.

Dark hair concealed his face but not the low croon of his voice as he sank to his knees before her, his bulk bowed almost double over the stone shelf. He spoke again, something that made Rey’s lips part and her cheeks flush, the gleam in her eyes turning almost predatory in the firelight. She sat up, unabashed in her nakedness, and kissed his mouth, hungry and searching as his huge hands covered her middle and wrapped around her hips to tug her over to the edge of the bed. When she was seated where he wanted her he bent low and kissed her breasts, one after the other, filling his hands with her as he took one soft pink nipple in his mouth and began to suckle.

The movement tilted his head towards the hearth: cold shock flooded Luke as the ruddy light revealed his nephew’s face.

His eyes were closed, the tiniest furrow between his dark brows; young he seemed, as the boy he had been last time they’d met, but it was clear the intervening years had not left him unscathed. The haunted shadows that ringed his eyes were new to Luke, as was the thin scar that arced across one cheek. And yet—his expression was one of peace, and it recalled to Luke a memory from long ago.

Leia had glowed when she cradled the boy to her body, lost in their bond and as full of pride and contentment as Luke had never seen her. He hadn’t liked to watch her nursing, even though he was curious—his life till then had been so starved of mothers, and seeing his sister so serene seemed to vindicate everything that had been lost. Luke had averted his gaze, and thought of other things, but witnessing the obscene parody of that memory play out in the little hut now stirred something dark and shameful far down inside.

Sparks danced when Rey tossed her head, the burnished bronze of her hair shot through with a glint like blood. She was a vision; a creature of starlight and enchantment, her chest rising and falling rapidly as the stranger Luke couldn’t think of as his nephew slipped a broad white hand between her thighs.

There was a moment’s pause while he panted heavily against her belly—fumbling, this was so plainly achingly new territory for the pair of them and the uncertain tenderness that pierced their desire made Luke even more aware that he was encroaching on something sacred—and then a gasp shuddered through them both and Rey’s eyes flew open as Ben nudged one finger inside her. He was staring up at her now, drinking in each infinitesimal reaction that crossed her face as he worked her open with slow, rhythmic motions, as her hips began to rock into his touch and her sighs turned to soft, breathy little moans that made Luke _burn_ to hear. The lovers were oblivious to his presence, the girl clothed in light and the man on his knees and the Force suffusing every atom of them, a dreamlike scene utterly untouched by something as pitiful and human as shame.

Shame consumed Luke now even as the Force sang with their pleasure, even as some long-buried part of him wondered what it would feel like to be the one wrapped in those endless golden legs, fucking into her with his hands and mouth and basking in the heady song of her delight—wondered how it might feel to be surrounded by that powerful body, surrounded and _filled_ and—

Rey propped herself up with one hand and began to paw at Ben’s doublet with the other, plucking at his collar till he gave in and drew back to disrobe for her. Luke caught his breath as Ben’s outer layers were shed, and then the inner ones too, until the breadth of his shoulders were bent over Rey once more and she was guiding him slowly between her legs so she could kiss him again, slow and languid and sweet. He lingered there, his hands caressing her sides like he could never get enough of touching her, before pulling away to mouth his way down over her stomach. He lingered too over the taut skin below her navel which was paler than the rest, nosing at the grove of dark hair where her thighs met before he lowered himself further to get between them.

Even the storm couldn’t drown out the filthy groan that rumbled through Ben then, and Luke ducked away from the threshold, overcome by a mix of guilt and shame and terrible, twisted _want_. Revulsion filled him. He couldn’t be here—he couldn’t be watching this, the wrongness of it burned even as he turned back toward the doorway, drawn by some terrible magnetism to see, to _know_ —

Rey was on her back, now, splayed out with one leg hooked over Ben’s shoulder and the other bent outward to expose where his fingers filled her and his mouth worshipped, her heel kneading his back insistently, her body pulled taut in a wordless plea for faster, harder, deeper, _more_. Luke couldn’t tear his eyes away from where they came together, enraptured by the delicately spasming muscles in her thighs and stomach with each little shivery pulse of _heat_ that travelled through her.

Ben seemed similarly smitten, pressing fevered kisses into the satiny, silver-mottled skin of her inner thighs as he slowly pushed his fingers into her until they could go no further—Luke watching, mesmerised, the way her cunt seemed to swallow him up, something of the sea’s hidden tides in the way she drew him deeper and deeper into the lush darkness of her body—like the sea she was demanding, and the more she demanded the more Ben gave, fucking another finger into her until his knuckles brushed against her and Rey’s head rolled back, chestnut hair spilling out over the blanket.

When she was spread open on three thick fingers her moans grew sharper, an urgency to way she rolled her hips that seemed to spur Ben on. He kissed her eagerly, mouth to tender mouth, with a hunger that seemed impossible to sate—and yet, thought Luke, his nephew seemed determined to try. One broad, pale forearm came over to still the rocking of her hips against Ben’s mouth, his thumb caressing the spur of her hipbone like it wasn’t enough to simply _touch_ her bare skin, like to do anything less than venerate every inch of her would ruin him.

She _keened_ when he crooked his fingers inside her, her entire body curling in upon itself until she was half-wrapped around his massive frame, her hands clutching desperately at his arms and his shoulders. Ben kissed her when her fingers found his hair and gripped it by the handful; he kissed her while she gasped and shook, as her moans turned into breathless whimpers and her thighs clamped around his head tight enough to suffocate. He kissed her through her climax, as the tension wound tighter and tighter inside her until—with a faltering cry—she came apart around him, and then he kissed her through the aftershocks, chasing every glimmer of pleasure till she lay boneless and sated in his arms.

Luke watched, shaken to the core, his heart pounding fit to escape his ribcage and an ache in his groin that he hadn't felt in years.

He had never felt what they were feeling now—that languorous descent, the wordless communion of lovers in the afterglow. He had never lain there with the taste of another on his lips and their sweat on his skin, and accepted without much grief that likely he never would. Such things had passed him by, and it was only in the rarest moments that he ever missed them. And yet, as he watched the girl from nowhere riding his nephew's face to a shattering finish, watched Ben lift his head to gaze up at her with slick lips and eyes blown black with arousal and adoration, their mingled want and affection for each other _singing_ through the Force, it was hard to say which of them Luke envied more.

She was murmuring into his ear now, her hands still woven through his hair and her long legs wrapped around him until it became hard to see where she ended and he began; maybe it was only the light, the flames, or some strange alchemy of the flesh that turned their living bodies to gold, but maybe it was something more. There was something animal about the way they drew the other close, something new and gentle in the way they held each other, Ben nuzzling into her belly and through the Force Luke heard every word of the soft praise that slurred from her lips—

 _"So good,"_ Rey sighed, drawing her knees up to frame Ben’s hips. " _So good, you were made for this, just this, just for me..."_

The rest was spoken in kisses pressed into his chest, his throat, scattered along his jaw until she reached his mouth and licked the taste of herself from his skin.

Ben gathered her up in his arms. "Just you," he rumbled between kisses, shifting his weight so he could lay her back and settle more comfortably over her. Rey glanced down between them, a slow smile curving across her face, and Luke followed her gaze down to see—

_Oh._

The dark outline of Ben's cock inside his pants was impossible to miss. Luke tried not to stare—the way he had been _not staring_ this whole time—but when Rey reached down to brush her slim fingers lightly over his erection Ben let out such a desperate, broken _groan_ that Luke felt his own cock twitch in vicarious desire.

(Because it was vicarious, he told himself. It was theirs, borne on the currents of the Force. It wasn't his own—he didn't _desire_ any part of this. He couldn't.)

"Want," said Rey simply. Ben looked wrecked.

He looked how Luke felt.

"Are you—" he began, fingers hovering at his waistline. Rey drew him down with a hand in his hair and kissed him sweetly again, her other hand joining his at his hips.

 _"Want,"_ she said again. _"Inside."_

Uttering a breathless oath, Ben pressed his forehead against hers. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were taut with the strain of holding himself up, the Force a burning haze around them while Rey rained kisses over Ben's cheeks, her hands smoothing up and down his sides. Luke watched a bead of sweat travel down his nephew's broad chest, which rose and fell unevenly as he struggled to get himself under control.

Ben was beautiful. He always had been, but like this, wild and wanting and undone by need, he was otherworldly. They both were.

And the sight of Ben shedding his last layers before settling back into the cradle of Rey's thighs; the way he twined his fingers with hers as he took himself in hand and slowly, _slowly,_ pressed home, holding her gaze like it would kill him to look away—the ragged sound that tore from them both when he began to _move_ —it would haunt Luke's dreams forever.

The shame that twisted in his gut, cankerous, acidic, all the more sickening for the terrible  _want_ that laced it...nothing would draw that poison out. The weight of guilt was nothing more than he deserved.

Still.

He had known worse sins.

**


End file.
